ALDWYTH. Ay! ay! thy victories Over our own poor Wales, when at thy side He conquer'd with thee. HAROLD. No--the childish fist That cannot strike again. ALDWYTH. Thou art too kindly. Why didst thou let so many Norsemen hence? Thy fierce forekings had clench'd their pirate hides To the bleak church doors, like kites upon a barn. HAROLD. Is there so great a need to tell thee why? ALDWYTH. Yea, am I not thy wife? VOICES. Hail, Harold, Aldwyth! Bridegroom and bride! ALDWYTH. Answer them! [_To_ HAROLD. HAROLD (_to all_). Earls and Thanes! Full thanks for your fair greeting of my bride! Earls, Thanes, and all our countrymen! the day, Our day beside the Derwent will not shine Less than a star among the goldenest hours Of Alfred, or of Edward his great son, Or Athelstan, or English Ironside Who fought with Knut, or Knut who coming Dane Died English. Every man about his king Fought like a king; the king like his own man, No better; one for all, and all for one, One soul! and therefore have we shatter'd back The hugest wave from Norseland ever yet Surged on us, and our battle-axes broken The Raven's wing, and dumb'd his carrion croak From the gray sea for ever. Many are gone-- Drink to the dead who died for us, the living Who fought and would have died, but happier lived, If happier be to live; they both have life In the large mouth of England, till _her_ voice Die with the world. Hail--hail! MORCAR. May all invaders perish like Hardrada! All traitors fail like Tostig. [_All drink but_ HAROLD. ALDWYTH. Thy cup's full! HAROLD. I saw the hand of Tostig cover it. Our dear, dead, traitor-brother, Tostig, him Reverently we buried. Friends, had I been here, Without too large self-lauding I must hold The sequel had been other than his league With Norway, and this battle. Peace be with him! He was not of the worst. If there be those At banquet in this hall, and hearing me-- For there be those I fear who prick'd the lion To make him spring, that sight of Danish blood Might serve an end not English--peace with them Likewise, if they can be at peace with what God gave us to divide us from the wolf! ALDWYTH (_aside to_ HAROLD). Make not our Morcar sullen: it is not wise. HAROLD. Hail to the living who fought, the dead who fell! VOICES. Hail, hail! FIRST THANE. How ran that answer which King Harold gave To his dead namesake, when he ask'd for England? LEOFWIN. 'Seven feet of English earth, or something more, Seeing he is a giant!' FIRST THANE. Then for the bastard Six feet and nothing more! LEOFWIN. Ay, but belike Thou hast not learnt his measure. FIRST THANE. By St. Edmund I over-measure him. Sound sleep to the man Here by dead Norway without dream or dawn!